After weeks of absence from the council, Starmist returned at last to the work that had always defined her beyond titles and chambers of power. Through the Sevenstar Foundation, she resumed her humanitarian missions, departing once more for the eastern regions of the realm. This time, her absence was meant to be brief.

  Starlax was not permitted to accompany her.

  The girl was asked instead to remain behind, to stay close to her father while Lady Star had yet to return from Takamagahara. Though her arrival was expected within the day, the request was not framed as temporary. It was spoken with the quiet gravity of a household still fractured.

  Starlax agreed without complaint. She promised her aunt that she would remain by her father’s side, that she would behave, that she would not wander into places she should not. Only after Starmist departed did the weight of that promise truly settle upon her.

  Not long after, Elysius came to escort her.

  “A gift,” Elysius said gently. “From Prince Morrigan. He asked me to make sure it reached you.”

  Starlax’s eyes lit up as she accepted it, her fingers tracing the smooth surface of the stone. She thanked him with genuine delight, her worries momentarily forgotten. When the council ship lifted into the sky and Elysius waved farewell from its ramp, Starlax waved back with both hands until the vessel vanished into the clouds.

  She nearly ran back to her chambers.

  Once inside, she shut the door behind her, climbed onto her bed, and activated her transmitter. The familiar connection flared to life, and moments later Morrigan’s face appeared, illuminated by the firelight of the Abyssian halls behind him.

  “I sent you something,” he said at once.

  “It did,” Starlax replied, clutching the necklace to her chest. “Thank you. I’ll wear it when we meet again.”

  “If you don’t like it, don’t force yourself,” Morrigan said with a small laugh. “Red stones aren’t exactly your color. In Abyss, we don’t even have blue gems.”

  Starlax smiled, unbothered. She liked it because it was given, not because of what it was made of.

  “You still can’t leave the house, can you?” Morrigan asked after a moment. In the background, distant roars echoed through the chamber.

  “Not yet,” she said softly. “I’m sorry. We could have spent more time together. But what was that noise?”

  Morrigan laughed openly now. “I’m sitting in the medical hall with General Raidbones. He’s screaming because one of his fangs is being pulled out.”

  Starlax laughed with him, the sound bright and unguarded.

  Then Morrigan’s expression shifted, just slightly. “How is your brother?”

  The question lingered longer than the laughter.

  Starlax explained as best she could. She spoke of worsening days and quieter nights, of how Starfall’s rage had burned itself out into something heavier. For several days now, there had been no reports from his prison. No shouting. No disturbances. To Starlax, that silence meant he was calmer. Or at least too tired to fight.

  Morrigan seemed relieved to hear it.

  “Do you think I can visit him now?” Starlax asked, her voice hesitant as she picked at her nails.

  “You can try,” Morrigan replied. “But if the guards refuse, don’t push them.”

  She nodded, even though he could barely see it.

  After they said their goodbyes, Starlax ended the call and sat alone in her room, the necklace resting on the table beside her. For a long moment, she did nothing at all.

  Then she stood.

  If she could not bring her brother freedom, she would bring him something else.

  She gathered glassworking tools from the craft room and began to work. As the hours passed, she shaped molten glass into a form she knew by heart. She thought of Starfall not as he was now, bound and broken, but as he had once been. A Vanguard.

  She chose to make him as he had loved to be.

  A miniature figure took shape beneath her careful hands. Cloaked. Upright. Wearing the mantle of the Regal Vanguard. Her fingers blistered when hot glass slipped and burned her skin, but she did not stop. When attendants offered to help, she refused them all.

  This was something she had to do alone.

  Seven hours later, the piece was finished.

  It was imperfect. The lines were uneven. The stance slightly crooked. Yet there was no mistaking who it represented. Every person who saw it knew at once.

  Starlax wrapped the figure in a box patterned with stars.

  As the sun dipped toward evening, she carried it in both hands and walked toward the prison where her brother waited, alone beneath iron and silence.

  Starlax encountered Njall near the southern wing, where scaffolds and half-built canopies rose like pale ribs against the sky. The Cogworks apprentice was overseeing the work with sharp focus. When he noticed her, he lifted a hand at once and warned her to mind her steps. Several support ropes had been anchored into the ground, their lines stretched low and uneven. The structure was not yet sound.

  Starlax nodded and thanked him. She walked more carefully after that, watching the ground as she followed the lines of rope toward the small fortress that served as her brother’s prison.

  At the iron door, the guards exchanged uneasy looks. They told her that no sound had come from inside for days. Still, protocol demanded that Lord Star be contacted before anyone was allowed entry.

  Starlax shook her head. She insisted.

  She said she trusted her brother. She said she would take responsibility. The transmitter sent to Lord Star returned nothing but silence. Minutes passed, thick with doubt. At last, worn down by her resolve and the absence of orders, the guards relented. The door was unlocked. Six of them were permitted to enter with her.

  Elsewhere, on the landing platform, Lady Star arrived from Takamagahara beneath a clear sky. Her ship settled gently, and several guards hurried to unload her belongings. Sicilia was there to greet her, offering a vial of potion that had been prepared in advance. They walked together, and Lady Star asked at once about her family. Sicilia answered carefully, recounting what she knew.

  When Lady Star asked for Starlax, Sicilia could only admit her ignorance. Starmist was away on duty. Lord Star was in his study with Starslayer. Of Starlax, she knew nothing. Lady Star only nodded and continued toward the gardens, unaware of how close she was to arriving too late.

  Inside the prison, the iron door yawned open into darkness.

  The room was barely recognizable. The once smooth walls were cracked and cratered, marked by repeated blows. The bed had been shattered into splinters. Chains lay twisted across the floor. At the far end, Starfall lay slumped against the wall, motionless, his head bowed beneath a curtain of white hair.

  Starlax stepped inside and bowed low, as she had been taught. The guards spread out to the corners of the chamber, tense and alert.

  “Brother,” she said softly. “It’s me. How do you feel today?”

  She wanted to touch him, to take his hand, but fear held her back.

  Starfall did not answer.

  With trembling fingers, Starlax opened the box she carried and placed the glass figure near his feet.

  “I made this for you,” she said, her voice thin but earnest. “It isn’t perfect. But I tried my best. It’s you, wearing your Vanguard cloak.”

  For a moment, nothing happened.

  Then Starfall slowly raised his head. His eyes fixed on the miniature. His lips curled, and a low sound escaped him, something between a scoff and a growl.

  “Vanguard?” he said.

  “Yes,” Starlax replied, with a small smile. “You loved being one, didn’t you?”

  His body began to shake.

  The guards tightened their grip on their weapons as Starfall pushed himself to his feet. He loomed over her, chains clinking softly, his eyes burning with a wounded fury.

  “Do you mock me?” he roared. “Do you think this is funny? You useless sister!”

  Before anyone could react, he brought his foot down.

  Glass shattered with a sharp, fragile sound. The miniature exploded into fragments, glittering briefly before scattering across the stone floor.

  “Young lord, please,” one guard pleaded. “She is your sister.”

  Starlax stared at the wreckage. Her gift lay destroyed, reduced to shards and dust. Her body trembled, violently now, and tears streamed down her face without restraint.

  “Young lady, are you hurt?” another guard asked, stepping toward her.

  She slapped his hand away.

  A broken cry tore from her chest as she turned and fled, sobbing, her footsteps echoing wildly as she ran from the prison. Starfall did not look back. He sank down once more against the wall, eyes empty, as if nothing had happened at all.

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  Outside, Njall and a handful of remaining workers heard her screams. They turned just in time to see Starlax burst into the open air, tears and anguish carried with her like a storm, racing blindly away from the place where her brother had finally become a stranger.

  “Young lady, stop. Watch your step.”

  Njall shouted until his throat burned. He and several workers ran after her, arms outstretched, trying to slow her down. They never reached her.

  An unseen force burst outward from Starlax’s body. The air itself seemed to recoil. Njall and the others were thrown back as if struck by a tidal wave, bodies lifted and hurled aside. Tools clattered across stone. One worker rolled hard and cried out in pain.

  “Njall,” one of them gasped as he struggled to rise, “why were we pushed back?”

  Njall slammed into the side of an unfinished wall and barely kept his footing. His eyes widened as understanding struck him, cold and dreadful.

  He looked up at the girl still running, her small frame wrapped in grief and fury.

  “Don’t tell me… her power is awakening.”

  In the garden beyond, Lady Star and Sicilia heard the screams carried by the wind. Lady Star turned just in time to see her daughter’s figure sprinting.

  She pressed the vial of potion into Sicilia’s hands without a word.

  “Hold this,” she said, already lifting from the ground.

  She flew.

  Starlax ran blindly, tears blurring her sight. Her foot caught one of the thick support ropes anchoring the canopy structures. The rope snapped with a sharp crack. Another followed. Then another. The half-built framework groaned like a wounded beast.

  Metal strained. Stone shifted.

  The canopy began to collapse.

  Njall shouted orders as workers and guards rushed to brace the structure, throwing up emergency supports, pushing against falling beams with raw strength and magic alike. Dust filled the air. Debris rained down.

  Njall ran again, extending the segmented arms of his Cogworks gauntlet to their full length, reaching for the girl through the chaos.

  Above them, Lady Star flew faster, fear burning through her chest.

  “Starlax,” she cried. “Stop. Stay where you are. Mother is here.”

  The voice cut through the noise.

  Starlax heard it.

  She stopped running.

  She turned, lifting her tear-soaked face toward the sky.

  At that moment, the final support failed.

  A massive slab of stone tore free from above, tumbling end over end. It was enormous, three times her size, blotting out the light as it fell.

  Njall’s mechanical arm froze mid-reach. He was too far.

  Too slow.

  The stone struck with a thunderous impact.

  Njall went pale. The workers and guards stared in horror, unable to breathe. No one screamed. No one moved.

  Lady Star landed hard, her knees giving way beneath her. She did not cry out. She did not speak. Her body simply failed her. She collapsed unconscious onto the stone path, no more than twenty meters from where the slab had fallen.

  Servants poured out from the palace, drawn by the sound and the shock. Somewhere among them, Sicilia stood frozen, her face drained of all color. The glass vial slipped from her trembling fingers and shattered at her feet, the potion spilling uselessly across the ground.

  The night wind howled across Stargate, cold and restless. Torches burned low as workers labored through the darkness, clearing rubble and twisted beams from the collapsed structure. Stone scraped against stone. Metal groaned as it was dragged away. No one spoke louder than a whisper.

  Njall sat apart from the others, his back against a broken pillar, eyes fixed on nothing. Dust clung to his hair and gloves. His hands trembled despite the Cogworks braces locked around his wrists. He did not help. He could not. The image of falling stone replayed again and again behind his eyes.

  Sicilia stood beside him, rigid as a statue. Her face was pale, her lips pressed thin. She raised her transmitter with shaking fingers and contacted Starmist.

  The connection opened.

  Starmist’s voice broke the moment she heard the words. She cried openly, without restraint. Her beloved niece, the light of that fractured household, might already be gone. She did not hesitate. She told Elysius everything in a rush of broken sentences, and together they prepared to return at once.

  Elysius moved faster than thought. He activated his transmitter again and again, calling every member of the council. His voice was sharp, stripped of its usual calm.

  “Emergency. All of you. Stargate. Now.”

  In Takamagahara, Amaterasu burst from her castle gates in a blaze of fire. She crossed the courtyard in a single breath, her expression hard with dread. Susanoo lounged beneath the open sky, chewing reeds and watching the stars drift.

  “Where are you going in such a hurry?” the storm samurai asked lazily.

  “There’s an emergency at Stargate,” Amaterasu shouted. “Watch the castle.”

  She did not wait for a reply. Fire wrapped around her body, and she shot into the heavens like a falling star.

  “Take me with you,” Susanoo yelled from below, far too late.

  At Pristine House, Leroy rose so suddenly that his chair scraped hard against the floor. He drained a glass of milk to burn away the haze of alcohol and strode for the door without explanation.

  “You’re not steady yet,” Lisa said, catching up to him. “Let us take you.”

  “I’m fine,” Leroy replied. Green light surged around him, swallowing his form. In the next instant, he was gone, tearing through the sky.

  Lisa and Cheng watched from below. Cheng exhaled slowly.

  “What in the abyss is happening to that family?” he muttered.

  At Cognisource headquarters, frantic fists hammered against the bathroom door. Bjorn had been locked inside for nearly two hours.

  “Professor,” a reporter shouted, “there’s a council emergency. You need to go now.”

  “Call Cygnus,” Bjorn roared back, his voice hoarse. “Tell him to come get me. Now.”

  The hallway fell silent. The reporters exchanged uneasy glances.

  “Professor,” the editor said carefully, “we don’t… we don’t dare contact him directly.”

  “You fools,” Bjorn snapped, his voice cracking. “There’s no time for this.”

  A pause followed.

  There was no answer. One by one, they leaned closer, ears pressed to the door, hearing only muffled breaths and something like a broken sob.

  In Morsalem, Cygnus abandoned his writing without a word. The ink on his page had not yet dried when he opened a portal, stepping through space itself. He emerged before the mansion of the Fallen Knight.

  Fer and Hun, the Ashkin guards, froze in terror. Cygnus Spellbane had appeared without warning, without summons, without mercy.

  “Where is your general?” Cygnus asked, his voice flat and cold.

  The two dropped to their knees at once.

  “Master Spellbane,” Fer stammered, “the general is away. He is not here.”

  Cygnus narrowed his eyes.

  “Then where did he go?”

  Far to the south, in the Great Kingdom of Abyss, King Darkon shouted orders through his hall until his voice echoed against stone. He demanded Prince Morrigan at once. Thirty long minutes passed before Morrigan burst in, breathless, Raidbones standing grimly by the door.

  “Morrigan,” Darkon said, his face pale and slick with sweat, “Lucretius is on his way here. Pack your things. You are going to Stargate.”

  “What?” Morrigan asked, stunned. “Why? What happened?”

  Darkon swallowed hard.

  “Your friend,” he said softly. “Starlax. There’s been an incident.”

  The words struck like a blade. Morrigan went rigid. Raidbones clenched his jaw.

  “What incident?” Morrigan demanded. “I spoke to her just hours ago. She was fine.”

  “I don’t know,” Darkon admitted. “But you must be there. She matters to you. And to what comes next.”

  Morrigan said nothing more. He turned and ran for his chambers, already gathering his things. Behind him, King Darkon sank into his throne, burying his face in his hands.

  “Lord Star,” he murmured, “old friend… what curse has fallen upon your house?”

  Disasters no longer came one by one. They arrived together, layered and relentless. The council could no longer observe from afar, could no longer control events through whispers and orders.

  Starlax lay unconscious in her chamber, her small body still and pale against the white sheets. Her breath came faint and shallow, each rise of her chest uncertain, as though the night itself weighed upon her lungs. She did not stir.

  Lady Star sat beside the bed, weeping openly now. Her hands never stopped moving, stroking her daughter’s hair, holding her fingers, as if touch alone could anchor the girl’s soul to the world. Her tears fell silently onto the blankets.

  On the other side of the bed, Lord Star sat rigid and hollow-eyed. He said nothing. His shoulders were drawn tight, as though he were holding his own body together by will alone.

  Starslayer stood near the doorway, his head lowered, his shadow long against the wall.

  “Father,” he asked quietly, his voice unsteady in a way it had never been before, “will she survive the night?”

  Lord Star did not look at him. His gaze remained fixed on Starlax.

  “We can only hope the Star still grants her strength,” he said at last.

  Starslayer stepped closer to the foot of the bed. He knelt and placed a hand around his sister’s ankle, his grip gentle, almost reverent.

  “Rest, my dear sister,” he whispered. “Now it is my turn to answer.”

  He rose.

  Without another word, Starslayer left the chamber. His expression had changed, drained of fear and filled with something colder. Behind him, Lord and Lady Star no longer noticed his absence. Guilt had swallowed them whole.

  Starslayer went straight to the relic vault.

  The Crystal of Zerulyth greeted him with a pale, eager glow. He took it without hesitation. From a nearby rack, he selected a heavy iron knuckle, its surface worn smooth by use. Then he turned and walked back through the corridors, through the gardens, toward the southern keep.

  Njall saw him first.

  The Cogworks apprentice froze as Starslayer passed, the knuckle clenched in his hand, his eyes empty and focused. Njall understood at once.

  He hurried after him.

  “Please,” Njall said, stepping into his path, “don’t do this ypung lord. For your father and mother.”

  Starslayer stopped and turned his head just enough to look at him.

  “My father and mother are not here,” he said calmly. “Only me.”

  He closed his hand around the Crystal.

  White starlight erupted from his body, wrapping him in radiant fury. The guards shouted orders, refusing to open the prison door. It did not matter.

  Starslayer struck the iron gate.

  The metal buckled inward with a scream of tortured steel.

  Inside, Starfall flinched at the sudden light. He lay chained and broken, barely conscious, his world reduced to pain and shadow. He squinted against the glare, trying to understand the shape before him.

  “Father?” he whispered hoarsely.

  Starslayer answered with his foot.

  The kick shattered Starfall’s face against the stone. Blood sprayed, blue and bright. Teeth cracked loose. Another blow followed, then another, fists crashing into Starfall’s stomach until he vomited blood onto the floor.

  Njall and the guards could not stop it. They stood helpless, bound by duty and terror, watching to ensure only one thing, that Starslayer did not kill him. Njall activated his transmitter in secret, sending a desperate signal to Lord Star, while others ran toward the main palace to raise the alarm.

  Starfall lay limp, fully chained, unable to resist. Starslayer seized his hair and wrenched his head up, forcing him to look.

  “I never wanted to hit you,” Starslayer said quietly. “But now I have a thousand reasons.”

  He continued.

  Each strike landed with deliberate cruelty. Starfall could not answer, could not defend himself, could not even ask why. He had no idea what had happened to Starlax. He knew only pain.

  By the time Lord Star ran toward the prison, breath ragged and heart pounding, Starfall was unrecognizable. Blood soaked his chest and face. His breathing was thin and uneven.

  Starslayer stepped back at last. The Crystal’s light dimmed as he returned it to his pocket, his body settling into its ordinary form.

  “I will not kill you,” he said. “I will let you live a very long time, so you can learn how worthless you truly are.”

  He turned to the guards.

  “Heal him,” Starslayer ordered. “Keep him alive. Force him to eat.”

  The words made Njall’s stomach twist. He staggered back and sank to the ground outside the prison, trembling, unable to stand any longer.

  Starslayer walked away toward the palace, his steps steady, his back straight, his conscience silent.

  Lord Star met Starslayer in the corridor, their paths crossing like blades.

  His voice rose, sharp and raw, cutting through the stone hall.

  “What do you think you were doing?”

  Starslayer did not stop. He did not even look at him.

  “Justice,” he answered calmly. “Father. The kind my sister deserved.”

  He walked past, carrying the relic back toward the vault, his steps measured, his breathing steady, as if he had merely completed a chore. The light of the Crystal faded behind him as the doors of the inner palace swallowed his figure.

  For a heartbeat, Lord Star stood frozen.

  Then he ran.

  He and the guards rushed toward the southern prison, boots pounding against the floor, fear tightening every breath. The iron doors stood warped and half-open. Blood stained the stone like spilled ink.

  Inside, Starfall lay broken.

  Chains bit deep into torn flesh. His chest barely rose. His face was swollen beyond recognition, one eye sealed shut, blue blood drying along his jaw and neck. The air reeked of iron and bile.

  “He’s alive,” one guard said quickly, kneeling to check his pulse. “Barely.”

  Lord Star stopped just inside the threshold. He did not speak. He could not.

  For the first time since the disaster began, his authority meant nothing. His legacy meant nothing. All that remained was the sight of his son reduced to something unrecognizable by another of his sons.

  “Treat him,” Lord Star finally said, his voice hoarse. “Now.”

  The guards moved at once, calling for healers, undoing what chains they dared, working with shaking hands. Lord Star watched them work, his fists clenched so tightly his nails cut into his palms.

  Somewhere above, in a quiet chamber, Starlax still slept between life and death.

  Between those two rooms, between those two children, something irreparable had been torn open.

  And House Star, once radiant, now bled from within.